From June 23rd, 2020

I’d like to believe that we will all find someone good in the end. But today especially, the odds are stacked up against me. My hands are shaking. I’m starting to think maybe not everyone will find their person after all. Maybe the Big love they croon about on the radio and write dramas about are essentially only meant for the lucky ones. And I just don’t feel lucky anymore. It’s a sinking sinking sad feeling. Rather than desperation, I think I reek of despair. I want to think that on your side, everything is okay now. You’ve found him. That gives me hope to carry on. But I’m starting to brace myself for the truth I didn’t want to see in the beginning. That sometimes, some people are meant to be islands. I repeat that to myself like a mantra a lot lately. I force myself to remember the people who are still single at 52 (mom’s friends) whenever I look at other people’s love and think forlornly to myself that i’ll find him soon. That i’ll have a love like this one day. I try to stop now. I have to. I’m afraid that if I don’t, I will only grow weary with disappointment over time. I come here during the times I need to hear a response when I talk. It’s ironical then because you can’t reply me. I’m 25 now. You’ll be 30 when you read this. I wonder what you’d say. I wonder how you’ll feel. I just keep praying that it will be good things.